The Torture Never Stops
by SF Heinig
Summary: Blackadder and Baldrick get thrown into the dungeon of despair by mad Queen Bess...silly wabbits.


Blackadder II

"**The Torture Never Stops"  
**

Due to a bad practical joke (and it was only bad because of poor timing) on Blackadder's part, involving a cat, a hat and a poorly placed spatula; mad Queen Bess has thrown both Blackadder and his nebbish accomplice Baldrick into the dungeon to "…teach them a bit of reverance, and that you shouldn't place spatulas, or cats with hats in such precarious and naughty loci, especially, with the Bishop of Carlisle roaming about.the grounds as a sot in a frock!"

Thusly, Blackadder and Bladrick have been shackled by their legs and wrist and have been hanging suspended from the dungeon ceiling for the past month and a half. They've also been directly facing each other, narrowly a foot in-between their grimy, beat faces.

Blackadder saw that Baldrick was again starring at him, and after he repreatedly told him not to. "What are you looking at?"

"You've got a spot on your shirt, my Lord." Baldrick stated.

Blackadder cocked his head doward trying to see the spot Baldrick was refering to. "Really, which one? The blood spot? The bile spot, or the saliva spots were the guards took turns spitting on me yesterday?"

"It's more of a brown spot, Sir."

Blackadder smiled. "Oh, that must be from this morning, when the peasants were pelting me with fresh horse dung."

"Ah, yes. It's so gratifying being able to take part in civic activities like that, Sir. It gives one such a great feeling of community.

"Yes. Perhaps tomorrow they'll behead you in a nearby village square." Blackadder said morosely.

"Oh, wouldn't that be great, my Lord." Bladrick said with delight.

"Can I ask you a question, Baldrick? A question that's been weighing on my mind since our illustrious imprisonment."

"Sure, my Lord. I am an open book."

"Really? I thought you were more of an open cold sore."

Baldrick looked dumbfound from the insult.

Blackadder continued… "How stupid of a man are you, Baldrick?"

"Well, I can't read, can't write, can barely speak at times. And I don't know much, except how to clean out the throne room."

"The _throne room_?" Blackadder said with mild confusion.

"The privy, my Lord."

" Ah-yes, the plumping do work the same."

"So I guess in answer to the question, Sir, I am a fairly stupid person."

"It's all right, Bladrick, I wasn't really looking for an explanation." Blackadder said with a sympathetic smile.

"Sir…"

"Yes, Baldrick."

"Do you ever get bored with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, seeing how you were a Lord and all, you were constantly surrounded by the highest level of sophistication."

"Don't forget a warm bed, and all the food and booze I could cram down my gullet." Blackadder pined sentimentally.

"Well, that's what I mean, Sir. You had all that, and now…"

"Where in god's name are you going with this, Baldrick?"

"All I'm sayin' is, do you realize what a tremendous amount of pressure this puts on me to constantly try and carry the conversation? And all you do is ridicule me with your clever little barbs."

"Well, I'm sorry, Baldrick, but we are slowly being tortured to death, and that puts a slight damper on one's sociable mood – and your constant blathering about god knows what half the time only causes the process to take on a needlessly crawling effect!"

"Well then fine. I won't say another word as long as we're alive. Happy?"

"YES!" Blackadder exclaimed!

That's when a darkly-cloaked, sickle-holding, highly cliched embodiement of Death entered the dungeon room (most likely played with comic mastery by Mr. Hugh Laurie). Blackadder spotted Death first.

"Oh, my god! Baldrick, look it's Death! Glorious and sublime Death has arrived to whisk us away to the eternal afterlife – he has arrived to release us from the shackles of our torment and suffering!

"I said I wasn't talking to you, my Lord." Baldrick said turing his head away from Blackadder.

"Baldrick, you must listen, everything I said before does not matter now. A new world awaits us – our ship to some undiscovered country has finally docked.

"Poetic hyperbole aside, Sir, I think it would be best if you went on without me. And I'm sure you'll have a jolly old time, laughin' it up and everything."

"What's his problem?" Death asked.

"He's grown a memory. Granted it's not much more than a gnat, but it's equally as irritating. Well, you can just take me then."

"Look, I'm kind of on the clock here, chum. The Middle Ages are a very busy time of year for me. So either both now, or I see you two in a month."

"Do you hear that, Baldrick? If we don't die now, then it'll be torture for another entire month!

Baldrick didn't respond to Blackadder.

"Baldrick, do you hear that?"

"All right, I'll die, but I want an apology first."

Blackadder groaned. "Fine. I deeply, regretfully am sorry if I've ever insulted you, Baldrick."

Baldrick mulled it over before responding. "Well, I guess I accept your apology, but you can't be insulting me anymore, Sir, okay?"

"As you wish… Can we die now, Baldrick?"

"Say, I promise first."

"I promise."

"On your mother's grave?"

"Aye."

"All right then, that's good enough for me. Okay, I'm ready for ya', Sir Death…Death? Deathy? Mr. Death I'm ready for the dark eternal after waters?

"He's gone, Baldrick …" Blackadder said glumly.

"He's gone?"

"As in left the building you you…pinheaded, thick-witted, imbecile—

"Hey, you promised!"

If you're curious, this is the song that inspired the scene to some extent…

"The Torture Never Stops" by Frank Zappa

Flies all green 'n buzzin' in his dungeon of despair  
Prisoners grumble and piss their clothes and scratch their matted hair  
A tiny light from a window hole a hundred yards away  
Is all they ever get to know about the regular life in the day;  
An' it stinks so bad the stones been chokin'  
'N weepin' greenish drops  
In the room where the giant fire puffer works  
'N the torture never stops  
The torture never stops

Slime 'n rot, rats 'n snot 'n vomit on the floor  
Fifty ugly soldiers, man, holdin' spears by the iron door  
Knives 'n spikes 'n guns 'n the likes of every tool of pain  
An' a sinister midget with a bucket an' a mop where the blood goes down the drain;

An' it stinks so bad the stones been chokin'  
'N weepin' greenish drops  
In the room where the giant fire puffer works  
'N the torture never stops  
The torture never stops  
The torture  
The torture  
The torture never stops.

Flies all green 'n buzzin' in his dungeon of despair  
An evil prince eats a steamin' pig in a chamber right near there  
He eats the snouts 'n the trotters first  
The loin's 'n the groin's is soon dispersed  
His carvin' style is well rehearsed  
He stands and shouts  
All men be cursed  
All men be cursed  
All men be cursed  
All men be cursed  
And disagree, well no-one durst  
He's the best of course of all the worst  
Some wrong been done, he done it first

(Well, well) An' he stinks so bad, his bones been chokin'  
(Yeah) 'N weepin' greenish drops,  
(Well) In the night of the iron sausage,  
(Well) Where the torture never stops  
The torture never stops  
The torture  
The torture  
The torture never stops.

Flies all green 'n buzzin' in his dungeon of despair  
Who are all those people that he's locked away up there  
Are they crazy,  
Are they sainted?  
Are they zeros someone painted,  
It has never been explained since at first it was created  
But a dungeon like a sin  
Requires naught but lockin' in  
Of everything that's ever been  
Look at hers  
Look at him  
That's what's the deal we're dealing in  
That's what's the deal we're dealing in  
That's what's the deal we're dealing in  
That's what's the deal we're dealing in


End file.
